A Whore’s Lullaby

March 6, 2010 § Leave a comment

Home, this world we call a Home.

Missing bones and transparent like madam’s lace underwear clinging and wide
open on the floor. I thought it was a wet rag.

I used to get caught in the doorways. I used to knock my hips against the wood
and there was always some body around to run to the front door to answer my
Ghost.

The whores came into the house at noon,
Filing in to get their mouths dirty
With the daisies in their tight bundle on the counter
Gasping for light through their puny yellow centers:
The areolae of the kitchen, many of them, pointing at me each time I put a
spoonful to my mouth.

Lucy bled all over the mattress. Madam gave her three lashes
before she stopped crying.
Her parts hung swollen even when she slept on her back
and I wanted to kill him for it. I thought
that I could save her.
I draped my arm over her still body, and
with shallow breaths she sings:

‘Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die’

When morning comes, I can hardly say
Where I can grow from here,
If there is anywhere I can go from here

If I can smell anything other than my sex.

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